


Eggshell Blue

by FictionLover007



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Incomplete Tags, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Bruce Wayne, Reverse Robin AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionLover007/pseuds/FictionLover007
Summary: Bruce Wayne is twenty-five years old when a baby is left on his doorstep...literally. All of a sudden, the Batman finds himself a father to a child he did not know existed, and as the years go by, his nest of birds grows. As children enter his life, Bruce finds himself a family, a term that he once believed would never apply to him again.P.S. Chapter 2 contains a lot of 9/11 imagery, having been based off of the scenes from Batman vs. Superman, please read at your own risk.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

The night a baby appeared on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, a storm that had flooded Crime Alley had just finished raining havoc upon Gotham. It was the first day of spring, and finally, the residents of uptown Gotham could enjoy the view through their massive windows. The sun streamed, and it seemed as though the dirt and grime of the city had been washed away.

It was curious, that with all the sunlight, that the security cameras did not detect whoever left the baby on the front porch as if it was though the infant had simply appeared out of thin air. The truth was less idealistic, in that a covert shadow organization had hacked into the Manor security feeds, and looped the footage long enough for a single operative to scale the gate of the perimeter, trek down the long driveway, and gently place the sleeping bundle on the welcome mat, and then go back the way they came, with only a moment’s hesitation. A letter, written on heavy parchment, was tucked into the folds of the fabric, sealed with black wax. The seal itself was nothing extraordinary, a simple impression of a stylized jambiya set within the now hardened pool. But the contents of the letter was quite remarkable in comparison to its container, in that it would reveal information that would, quite literally, change the world.

* * *

It was just after ten o’clock in the morning when the baby was discovered by the primary caretaker of the property, Alfred Pennyworth. The baby had not yet awoken, and the man had initially feared that the child was dead. A closer inspection confirmed the opposite and provided a suspicion as to the parentage of the child. Gently picking up the baby, Alfred carried the child inside the Manor, and through the house until he encountered the other resident.

“Master Bruce, I have something of the utmost importance to share with you,” Alfred spoke, eyes flickering between the man in front of him, and the child nestled in his arms.

“What is it, Alfred?” Bruce Wayne was focused on some nondescript paperwork in front of him and had not previously acknowledged the interruption posed by his butler.

“For this, sir, you might wish to turn around.” Bruce’s head cocked up in intrigue, and he turned away from his desk to look at his loyal companion. Upon recognizing what Alfred was holding, Bruce stood and strode closer to inspect the third person in the room.

“What is this?” Bruce asked, not quite sure what to process what his eyes were telling him.

“It’s a baby, Master Bruce.” Alfred deadpanned, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“I am aware that it is a baby. I am asking…”

“A baby, of whom I had no knowledge of until I found him on the doorstep some moments ago. There appears to be a letter there. It might contain the information you are inquiring me for.” Alfred interrupted, and Bruce huffed, sliding the letter out of the blanket. The baby did not wake at the moment, but sniffed and wriggled in his sleep. Bruce inspected the seal on the letter, not recognizing the logo. Without garnering any clues from the exterior envelope, Bruce broke the seal and withdrew the letter from inside. He turned away from the butler, to read the letter, his eyes scanning over the words with suspicion.

_My dear beloved,_ the letter read. _It has not been so long since we last saw each other, but to me, it has been a lifetime, and now I must ask something of you. In the fourteen months since we crossed paths, I have found myself a mother of a child I cannot care for with my current allegiances. My father was initially inspired by my pregnancy, especially given the biological heritage of the embryo, but now he plans something I cannot find it within myself to follow through with. You know as well as I that he is obsessed with immortality, and would do anything to get it. Now he intends to transfer his own consciousness into the body of my son, and I had no option other than to remove my son from his access. I know that you were not prepared for this. How could you be? But I can assure you that he is your son as well as mine, and I would trust no other with his life more. Please care for him well, and I hope that one day I might return to see the man I know you’ll raise him to be. Best wishes, Talia Al Ghul. P.S. His name is Damian._

Heaving a loud sigh, Bruce read the paragraph again and again, hoping for some clues into what to do next, when Alfred reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bruce? What does it say?”

Turning to look at the older man, Bruce crumpled the letter in his fist. “The baby’s name is Damian. And he’s my son.”

“I know that. You only have to look at him to see that.” Alfred smiled slightly before schooling his features back into a neutral expression. “Who is…”

“Talia Al Ghul. She’s his mother. He’s nearly five months old. She wants me to raise him and protect him from his grandfather.”

“I see. Well, in that case…” Before Alfred could finish trailing off the sentence, Bruce found himself with a baby being shoved gently into his chest, and his instincts immediately prompted him to wrap his arms around the infant. With that, Alfred walked away, and said: “We will need some supplies.”

Bruce could only stare after the man that had spent the better part of the last two decades raising him when a soft whimper drew his attention. Looking down, Bruce took in the small features of his son, noticing that the baby’s eyes were now open and focused on him. Crystal blue irises stood out in contrast to the baby’s naturally tan skin tone, with flecks of Lazarus green glowing near the pupil, defining the color of his eyes as a soft robin egg blue to perfectly match the blanket in which he was wrapped.

“Hello, Damian. I’m your dad.” Bruce whispered softly. “Welcome home.”

* * *

Damian, as it would turn out, was not a fussy baby. In the immediate weeks after his mysterious arrival at Wayne Manor, life did not drastically change, despite the new addition to the household. Alfred and Bruce quickly came to an arrangement, in which Bruce would be responsible for monitoring Damian during the day, while Alfred attended to the house, and Alfred would watch Damian while Bruce was out as Batman. He did not cry very often, which both men secretly found to be a relief, and was rather content to stare.

His nursery was quickly outfitted with the same furniture that had occupied Bruce’s nursery, only now it was all placed in the master bedroom. A rocking chair was Bruce’s favorite furnishing of the set, as he could often read from the newspaper while cradling the infant. It was when Alfred caught both father and son sleeping in the chair that he started taking pictures of the two of them. Slowly a collection amassed into a leather-bound book, preserving moments of Damian’s early days at the Manor.

It was two months into their new life that things started changing, however, and it started in the most terrifying way possible. Bruce was working in his study, and Damian should have been in his crib, cuddling a soft toy. Bruce couldn’t tell you when he lost track exactly, but at some point, he looked up to check on Damian was not there. Lurching to his feet, Bruce rushed over to the crib, picking up the abandoned toy. “Damian?” Bruce asked, panic seizing his body.

“Damian?” Bruce scanned the room, trying to find out where his son had gone. Had Alfred picked him up and Bruce not noticed? Had someone broken into the house and taken him? Questions stirred in Bruce’s mind until a small movement caught his eye. A heavy curtain rustled next to the large window. However, the airflow in the room should not have been enough to move the fabric. Reaching for the curtain, Bruce drew back the drape, revealing baby Damian tugging on the hem, sitting up. The baby did not seem impressed at being discovered and let out a small whine when Bruce picked him up.

“How did you get over here?” Bruce asked the baby as if the child would actually respond. Damian tilted his head as if to say, “Who, me?” and Bruce sighed. He carried the infant back to his crib and placed his son back down on the soft blanket. Damian did not like that, and balled his fists, kicking his feet. A small growl emitted from his throat, and a tiny yell emerged from his mouth. Bruce paused a moment, but retracted his arms, making to turn back to his desk. Not to be ignored, Damian clutched the wooden slats of the crib, and rocked his body, making the cot creak, and a loud squeal pierced the room.

Raising an eyebrow, Bruce looked back at the baby, just in time to watch Damian pull himself into a standing position, and reach up, hanging from the top of the crib. A small foot swung upwards, pitching the tiny body sideways, and an ankle hooked on the same bar gripped by little fingers. With a massive heave, the baby maneuvered himself to be laying on the bar that kept all of the slats in place and rolled off, gripping the slats underneath to slide to the floor slowly. Bruce lurched to catch him, but Damian landed gracefully on the ground, before collapsing onto the carpet. His eyes met Bruce’s quickly, and Damian rolled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself to stand, before stumbling shakily on two legs to reach his father. Bruce froze, startled at the sudden information that he how had a walking child. Small hands quickly seized his outstretched arms, and Damian shouted to get his father’s attention.

“Ahp. Ahp. Ahp.” The babble was clear. Damian wanted to be carried, and in his surprise, Bruce could only obey, lifting the child and settling him on his hip, supported in the crook of his elbow. Bruce slowly walked out of the room, careful not to jostle Damian as he moved. Together, they located Alfred, who was dusting the library when they walked in.

“Ah, Master Bruce. And Master Damian. What can I do for you?”

“We will have to start baby-proofing the house, Alfred.”

“Oh?” Alfred raised an eyebrow, glancing between his two charges.

Bruce smirked and put Damian down on the ground. Damian struggled, not wanting to be on the floor. “Go on,” Bruce prompted. “Go to Alfred.”

Damian blinked at his father owlishly, before turning back to Alfred. Alfred folded the dust rag in his hands, and Damian’s face took on a look of concentration. Pushing himself onto his hands and feet, Damian toppled, trying to steady himself. Alfred frowned at Bruce before finally, Damian successfully propped himself onto his feet. Satisfied, Damian waddled across the polished wood floor, taking step after step until his little fingers could wrap themselves in Alfred’s black slacks.

The butler’s face was a look of total shock, not expecting to witness the small baby sufficiently move himself the short distance between Bruce and himself. Picking the infant up, Alfred handed the child back to his father and straightened his jacket. “I see what you mean. In that case, I will start making the necessary preparations. In the meantime, he has been here long enough that you should consider making him public knowledge, especially now that he will be much harder to hide from guests.”

Bruce scowled, and baby Damian wrinkled his own face into a mockery of the expression. “I don’t have a birth certificate or a vaccination record. I can’t just say to the press, oh, I have a kid now.”

“On the contrary, you can. In fact, many members of the press have been expecting that kind of announcement from you for a while now, with your reputation. As for vaccinations, I will assume that he has none, so I suggest you take him to visit Dr. Thompkins. Or perhaps, contacting his mother to see…”

“Absolutely not. I will not involve Talia.” Bruce snapped, and the aggressive nature of the interruption caused Damian to whimper. He softened, not wishing to scare the child.

“Master Bruce. Damian is now six months old. Without certain vaccinations, you leave him vulnerable to potentially fatal conditions, including polio and pneumococcal disease. As it stands, his body will need time to adjust to those medicines, and yet, I would hate to see it that they are repeated either. I know your feelings on Ms. Al Ghul are strong; however, for his sake, look past them.”

Bruce caved at the logic, and nodded silently, pensive and stone-like. Damian balled his fists in Bruce’s shirt, and Alfred patted the baby’s head before leaving the library. Sighing, Bruce looked down at his son, who looked back at him curiously. “I suppose this is something I should stop putting off. Well, it’s time to call your mother.”

* * *

In the year and a half since Bruce had last spoken to Talia, it had gotten harder to contact her. His network of contacts leading to the League of Assassins had dwindled, and the League had taken to secluding themselves more and more on Infinity Island. But finally, Bruce was able to get through, and he couldn’t help the pit in his stomach at the thought of seeing Talia again after everything. The video feed popped up, and Talia’s face was half obscured by a black cloth covering her nose and mouth.

“Hello, Beloved. It has been a long time.” Her smooth voice sent a trail of goosebumps racing up Bruce’s arms, and it took a lot of self-control not to flinch.

“Talia. It has indeed. You know why I called?”

“I would assume it was to discuss Damian. Tell me, how is my _ibn_?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the name but nodded. “He’s doing well. He’s started walking.”

Talia’s eyes crinkled, giving away her smile under the cloth. “I see. May I see him?”

“No.” Bruce was firm, and the soft expression on her face froze. “No,” Bruce said again, gentler, not wanting to offend Talia while still expecting something from her. “I am calling you from the cave. It is not safe for him down here yet. But if you wanted to do this again, to see him…” What Bruce was about to offer infuriated him, but he forced himself to extend the courtesy anyways. “I’m sure we could arrange something.”

Talia relaxed slightly but shook her head. “Oh, that would be lovely, but no. I should not. I made my choice. He should not know me.” Bruce was surprised but gave nothing away.

“I could send you some pictures. Alfred has taken several.” This offer was easier to make, and the hopeful glint in Talia’s eye encouraged him.

“We shall see. What is it you wanted to know? His birthday?”

Bruce froze, having forgotten that he did not, in fact, know his son’s birthday. “That, and some other details. Was he given vaccinations or…”

Talia shook her head. “I had a water birth, laced with a mild concentration of the Lazarus pit liquid. Damian was infused with that, he needs no vaccinations.”

“Talia, that’s not…”

“Habibi, trust me, in this regard. You will see. He will never get sick, ever.”

Bruce snorted but offered no further protest. He supposed that was one less thing to worry about. “Can you tell me more about the birth?”

“He was born on the nineteenth of January, 1995, at sunrise. He weighed six pounds exactly and was born just as the sun rose. 7:06 am. A private family doctor monitored the birth, and I can send you a copy of the certificate if you need one.”

Bruce nodded, and suddenly felt awkward, not sure what else to say. Talia could sense his apprehension.

“I must thank you, again for taking him in. I could not allow him to remain under the wing of my father. His humanity would have died before he could truly live.”

Bruce nodded and then asked, “What happened exactly, to make you defy your father like that?”

Talia stiffened. “I…He liked to watch Damian. Constantly. The look in his eyes was concerning, and I felt like…it seemed as though to my father that Damian was his, unequivocally to do with as he pleased, and no one can stand up and refuse him without fearing permanent death. The way Ra’s would look at him, no one that young should be looked at as such.”

The underlying meaning of her words froze Bruce to the core, and he found himself itching to run and find his son to assure himself that his son was here, that he was fine. Bruce nodded, and tension started bleeding from Talia’s shoulders.

“I will protect him, Talia,” Bruce said, and she nodded, respect evident in her eyes.

“Good. And in time, you will train him.” She said, certainty in her voice.

Bruce recoiled. “I’m sorry?”

Talia’s eyes glazed over. “You will train him. The Batman is his heritage. You will teach him how to fight for justice and order, how to be a hero of the night.”

“Absolutely not.” Bruce thundered. Talia seemed to break from a trance and frowned.

“You will. Or I will send others that will do it for you.” Her voice took on a dangerous edge, and Bruce could sense the threat that she was promising. Angry, Bruce knew that this call was going to end badly if they continued on the current topic, so he pushed the button to stop the connection, and Talia’s face disappeared.

Seething in his head, Bruce weighed his options based on the information he had. At six months old, Damian was certainly helpless, but he wouldn’t be forever. As the son of Bruce Wayne, he was a target. Bruce didn’t have enough fingers to count the number of times that he’d been specifically targeted for his public persona. A son would be merely an exploit opening to some. And as the son of Batman, really there’s no telling what could happen. When Bruce had started as Batman, it had been because he’d had nothing he could lose. That had made him reckless. But now he had Damian, and that changed things.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter is heavily influenced by the scene in Batman VS Superman and the aftermath of 9/11. Please read this at your own risk.

_(September 2002, seven years later)_

“Father, I do not see why I must dress in these clothes,” Damian whined as Bruce tied his forest green Gotham Academy tie.

“You must, because they are your school uniform, and the school requires that you wear it while you are in classes. You can change into other clothes after school, but for now, try to maintain your appearance as is, please?” Bruce sighed, knowing that his request for Damian to follow the rules was almost certainly pointless, but at least he could tell Damian’s principle that he tried when he inevitably got a call later.

“But why is it required? Is it a formality?” Damian’s tone was unusual in that question, and Bruce could have slapped himself for not thinking of it earlier. Damian had learned early on that appearances were necessary, and that maintaining a formal appearance was essential as a Wayne. Damian thrived on formalities.

“Yes, yes, it is. The school has a certain reputation, like us, you see? And to maintain that reputation, the students must look a certain way. To them, this is a respectable appearance, and so you must wear it.”

“In that case, I shall endeavor to wear it with honor,” Damian exclaimed with enthusiasm, and Bruce wrinkled his nose.

“Where did you learn to speak like that? I certainly didn’t teach you.”

“I found myself a copy of the dictionary in the library. Commissioner Gordon's daughter told me that vocabulary was significant to a man’s image, and so I have made an effort to integrate complex words into my daily speech.”

“Is that why you insist on calling me Father?” Bruce sighed, wishing for coffee at this moment.

“Certainly,” Damian stated, before hesitating a moment. “Would you prefer I use something else, in private?”

Bruce blinked and thought for a moment. “I don’t mind Baba. It means father in the tongue of the country in which you were born.”

Damian silently mouthed the word “Baba,” seemingly testing it on his tongue. “Very well, Baba. Oh, Alfred is going to remind you when we go downstairs, but after school today, we are paying a courtesy visit to the Drakes next door. It’s their son’s Christening this evening.”

Right, the Drakes, with their newborn. “Ah, yes. Baby Timothy. I suppose we should bring a gift, shouldn’t we?” Bruce mused.

“Yes. His father is an archeologist, is he not?” Damian inquired.

“Yes, he just got back from a dig in Egypt.”

“In that case, we should bring the new Drake a cat.” Damian declared.

Startled, Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think…”

“Stuffed, of course.” Damian amended.

“Ah. Why?”

“Pennyworth taught me a little about ancient civilizations during our allocated bedtime reading. In Ancient Egypt, cats were heralded as a noble animal, a symbol of the gods, and treated with the utmost respect. As the heir of Drake’s wealth, it should be important that he is respected, and so a cat makes a suitable companion for the present.”

Bruce adopted a small smile and patted Damian’s shoulder. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don’t we pick up a cat at the store after school before we see the Drakes, you can pick it out. You can pick something out for yourself, too, while we’re there.”

Grinning, Damian silently celebrated, and picked up his school bag, getting ready to leave. Bruce watched him for a moment, remembering all of the fond memories he’d had of his son over the past six years. Damian had grown quickly, and as Talia had said, never gotten sick. Not even a cold. He’d taken an interest in animals very early on and had amassed quite the collection of stuffed toys himself in the absence of real animals. He was told that when he turned ten, he would be allowed a pet of his own, but until then, stuffed animals would have to do. Bruce remembers the tears Damian shed during that conversation, and had wanted so badly to cave, willing to give his son anything, but in the end, it had been Alfred who put his foot down. There was no doubt in either man’s mind that Damian would care for the pet, but with Bruce at work day and night, and Damian at school, it would fall to Alfred to care for the animal for most of the day, on top of his many responsibilities already.

Bruce got so caught up in reminiscing that he almost missed Damian as Alfred hurried him into the car to drive him to school. Bruce stood on the doorstep of the Manor as Alfred belted Damian into the car seat, a mug of coffee now in his hands, one that he did not remember picking up. Another car rumbled down the driveway, reminding Bruce that he too had somewhere to be.

Reaching just inside the doorway, Bruce found his briefcase settled on the floor and headed towards the car. The driver stepped out of the car and opened the door, straightening her jacket as she did so.

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.”

“Good morning, Crystal, how are you this morning?”

Bruce clicked on his belt, and Crystal Brown adjusted the car’s side mirrors slightly. “I am doing well, sir. The first day at school is always a relief. I’m just glad I was able to find a daycare.”

“Ah, yes, how is Stephanie?”

“She’s good as well, sir. I can hardly believe she’s now a year old! And I saw Mister Damian in his school uniform just now, why, I remember he was such a shy thing when I started. How he’s grown!”

“I know. I was just thinking about that this morning. It’s hard to believe it sometimes.”

Crystal was quiet for a moment before hesitantly opening her mouth. “Mister Wayne, please don’t take offense at this question, and you do not have to answer it, but might I ask about Mister Damian’s mother? I did some research on you after applying for this job, and you never married, publicly, that is. Where is she?”

A knot formed in Bruce’s throat. He liked Crystal. She was a very prompt woman and a loyal employee. He couldn't see her selling information to the press, but he'd never actually explained the cover story he created for Damian's appearance.

Bruce must’ve taken too long to respond because then Crystal said, “I’m sorry for asking, sir. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Shaking his head, Bruce shoved off some of his darker thoughts. “No, it’s quite alright. Damian’s mother was the daughter of an Iraqi diplomat. We met through mutual acquaintances during my years abroad. We never really engaged in a relationship, but we were close. It wasn’t until after I returned to Gotham that I found out our last encounter had borne Damian. She was unable to care for him at the time, given the political state of her country, and since he had American citizenship, I took him in. She and her father disappeared less than a year later. I haven’t heard from either since.”

“Oh. Oh, Mister Wayne, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Yes, although, I can’t say that I regret it, not with having Damian in my life as a result.” Bruce artfully redirected the conversation.

“That is true. Kids have that way about them, don’t they, of making bad situations just a little better. I remember after my ex left, Stephanie was the only thing that could get me to smile some days.”

“Hmm. And the Drake’s next door as well, they’re just about to find out too.”

“Oh, I heard about that. They just had a baby in July, didn’t they?”

“Yes, Tim. It’s his christening tonight.”

“Christening? I didn’t think they were religious?”

“I don’t think they are, but Janet’s parents insisted. They’re wealthy within their own right, and seemingly invited all of Gotham’s 1%.”

“I see. Should I make sure to make any stops on the way to pick Master Damian up this afternoon?”

“No, but afterward, I told him we could go to the toy store. Damian thought it would be nice to bring a toy for the baby.”

“Oh, how lovely. Do you mind if I accompany you, Mister Wayne? I should like to get something for Stephanie as well.”

“Not at all. What does Stephanie like?”

“Oh, most things. But she loves waffles, and the color purple for some reason.”

“I guess that makes things easy, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yes sir, yes indeed it does.”

They continued the drive to Wayne Enterprises in a comfortable silence; however, the tone of the air changed the minute Bruce entered his office building. Employees were staring blankly at screens, and a large television was playing news coverage. It reminded Bruce of a similar day, only last year, and a sick feeling clawed at his stomach.

“Lucius, what happened? Did something…”

Lucius Fox was consoling an employee at her desk, but straightened upon hearing Bruce. “Bruce, have you seen the news yet?”

“No, what’s happened? Was there another attack? New York?”

“Not quite. Two Metahumans decided to have a superpowered brawl right in the center of Metropolis. They took out a few buildings, and there are a load of civilians missing. Our own tower suffered a partial collapse. Bruce, the metahumans, the news is claiming that they're aliens.”

“What...?” Bruce exclaimed, and then shook his head. Nevermind that. “No. Hang on, our building. What is the status of our employees? Sandra!” Bruce called for his assistant, who he knew could not be far away.

A short woman in a forest green skirt suit strutted out onto the main floor. “Hello, Mr. Wayne. What can I do for you?”

“Arrange my plane, and load emergency supplies on board, and call Crystal back. I’m going to Metropolis.”

“Bru…Mr. Wayne, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lucius spluttered, as the woman walked off.

“Is it a good idea to utilize my personal resources to send aid relief to a large portion of our employees, who’s work environment literally got destroyed by aliens?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow at Lucius.

“No. I mean, yes, it is, but rather, is it a good idea to personally go to Metropolis?”

“I can’t see why not?” Bruce walked off, putting his briefcase in his office.

“Of course you can’t,” Lucius said, shaking his head.

* * *

As Bruce walked out of the building he had seemingly just entered, he found Crystal standing dutifully outside with the car.

“Hello, again, Mr. Wayne. I take it we’re going to the airport?”

“That would be correct. The plane won’t be taking off for a while. It’s being loaded currently with aid packages. Crystal, I need to take a phone call, would you mind putting up the divider?”

“Of course, sir.” As the screen slid up with the touch of a button, Bruce pulled out his flip phone, calling the Manor main line.”

“Wayne Residence.” Alfred’s dry tones greeted Bruce.

“Alfred, it’s me. I’m calling to let you know that I could possibly be late picking up Damian today.”

“And what would be the cause of that delay, might I ask?”

“I’m about to fly to Metropolis. Our building there partially collapsed after an alien flew through it apparently.”

“Oh my. Well, please keep me updated as to your progress, and let me know the moment that you board your plane. Should I inform the Drakes of your absence tonight?”

“No, I should still make it. I just don’t want Damian left wondering. Speaking of him, I told him that we could go to the toy store after school, to pick up a present for the Drakes, and one for himself too. In case I don’t come back in time, Crystal will take him there, and then drop him off.”

“Of course, sir. I shall expect an update in promptly five hours.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” With that, Bruce hung up the phone and knocked on the divider.

Crystal rolled down the divider, and said “Yes sir?”

“Crystal, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course. What is it that you need?”

“Would you mind terribly if you picked up Damian from school today and took him to the store yourself? Here’s my card, you can put his purchases, and whatever you want for your daughter on there.”

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, you don’t have…”

“Please, allow me. There is a second part to this favor however, which might be more complicated.”

“Go on.”

“I’m flying to Metropolis, to tend to my employees affected by the attack that happened this morning. Would you mind being available to pick me up from the airport? You can bring your daughter. I don’t mind. I just don’t want to inconvenience Alfred any more than I already do.”

Crystal chuckled and said, “Of course, sir. Should I expect a call from your office, or Alfred in order to know what time to pick you up?”

“I will call you personally. I’m not entirely sure of the details yet.”

“Alright. We should be at the airport in about ten minutes.”

About fifteen minutes later, Bruce found himself sat in his preferred seat on his private plane, the main cabin, and the cargo hold stocked full of hundreds of WE relief kits. Checking the closest package, Bruce was satisfied to see two blankets, a lighter, a flashlight with extra batteries, a whistle, disposable phones with twenty minutes of pre-loaded credits, a first aid kit, dust masks, and expense forms. The forms were the most important thing because then employees could mark purchases they had to make on behalf of their families, such as replacement housing, food, and necessary items, and then submit the forms to their parent company, i.e., Bruce to reimburse them. Hey, he was a billionaire, he can afford it.

Landing in Metropolis was a nightmare, as it turned out. Everyone was trying to leave the city. Bruce almost told his pilot to just find a field somewhere, but eventually, his plane was on the tarmac of the largest airport in the city. As Bruce emerged from his plane, there were a line of people on the pavement to greet him.

“Mr. Wayne? My name is William Henderson. I’m the Metropolis Police Commissioner, this is Mike Henderson, no relation, of the Metacrimes Division. We’re to accompany you to the site of the attack. We thought you might want to see the damage.”

“Of course, thank you. I also have several aid relief boxes on my plane. I wish to distribute those to my employees. Can you have someone oversee that?”

“Of course,” The third man in line stepped forward. “My office can handle that. Mayor Rob Morrisroe.” Bruce shook the Mayor’s hand.

“Mayor, I am so sorry to hear about all this. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.”

“Please, Mr. Wayne, by being here, you’ve already done more than the President at this point, so really I just have to thank you for coming.” The Mayor said humbly, and Bruce nodded.

“Shall we?”

* * *

The Mayor rode with Bruce in the back of the police vehicle that took them to the destruction zone, and Bruce was shocked to see so many civilians moving closer to the center of the city.

“What are they doing?” Bruce asked.

“Most of them are looking for friends and family members. Thousands of people are missing, presumed dead. Six buildings collapsed in total, with several more taking extensive structural damage causing partial collapses. There was no warning. Most people were still inside. The Daily Planet took the most damage. There’s nothing left, the entire building is a pile inside its own basement. Rescue teams are saying that that building, and most buildings within a ten-mile radius, suffered the most damage. Superman’s been airlifting people out…”

“Superman?” Bruce was confused.

“Ah yeah. He was the Meta trying to stop the attack. I don’t know how much you know about him…”

“I thought he was a myth. He seemed a bit too unrealistic to be anything more than real.”

“Oh, he’s real, alright.” Mike Henderson spoke up from the driver’s seat. “A real pain in the ass, even though he’s a really nice guy.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“They call him Superman because he’s got super-everything. Supersight, super hearing, super strength. X-ray vision, he’s basically staring through debris to find people. He can fly too, there’s that, and a ton of other stuff, like shooting lasers out of his eyes, and being practically indestructible.”

“And was he responsible for any damage?” Bruce asked.

The Mayor flinched. “Unfortunately, yes. He and the military both committed some damage as a result of engaging in combat.”

“He’s employed by the military?” Bruce asked.

“He’s cooperating with the military. I don’t know about employed. But they coordinated the defense. I can’t see military guys taking the time to rescue cats out of trees.”

What? “Excuse me?”

“That’s what Superman’s known for, sir.” Henderson interrupted. “The Daily Planet did a report on metahumans doing public service, and he was the main subject of the report. After the military found out about his powers, they made a deal with him, allowing him to use his powers to help people on the condition that he doesn’t…y’know, destroy the planet.”

“Can he do that?” Bruce asked, alarmed, and concerned.

“We don’t know. I’ve not had the chance to meet him yet, and get a full summary of what he can do.” Morrisroe admitted, and the car came to a stop.

Bruce looked outside the window to see a dust cloud lingering in front of them. “We have to walk from here. Emergency Services are blocking off the streets. They’re calling this the Black Zero event.”

“That’s…encouraging.” Bruce gritted his teeth and got out of the car.

The first thing Bruce noticed was the paper. Scraps of paper littered the streets, entire sheets to the tiniest scraps. He could see more paper than the actual ground, and it was all covered in soot, dust, and debris. Smoke drifted along, just above street level. Cars were abandoned on the sidewalks, and street signs lay in various positions that they should not be in. Glass crunched underneath their feet, and everywhere lay shoes. Random shoes, having fallen off of people as they ran away from the destruction. Thin parallel burns were carved going up the side of one structure still standing, and the sky above was gray, clouds of particles providing a blanket of cover over the city. Yellow light streamed through the cover, giving everything a haunted air to it. All around him, Bruce could hear sirens, screaming, and the crashing of more things losing grip from whatever had been holding them up. Right in front of him lay a long, white sheet, bumping up in such a way that revealed exactly what was underneath. Bodies. Thirty or more at least, laid still under the fabric, dried blood staining the cloth.

Unadulterated horror streamed through Bruce’s system, and shock took hold. Teams of emergency personnel disappeared and reappeared from the dust cloud, bringing back more bodies to lay under the shroud. Service dogs whimpered next to their handlers, nosing into their palms every time a body was laid down. Bruce remembered attending charity services after the September 11th attacks, seeing images not dissimilar to what he saw around him now. Water soaked into his shoes as he walked closer to the heart of the destruction, spouting into the air from the damaged fire hydrants lining the streets. Above him, the buildings still standing were faced with metal grills, where there should have been windows and fires billowed smoke into the air.

Finally, they reached the Wayne Enterprises site, and a gasp emerged from within Bruce that felt more like taking a punch to the gut. The building had been exactly forty-four floors, including the roof level. It had been modeled similarly to the famous Gotham clocktower, with four gargoyles on each of its corners, and the windows provided a 360-degree view of New York for precisely forty floors. Now, what stood in the tower’s place was a building half it’s usual size, looking like it had been sliced neatly in half. A combination of wood, metal, and concrete banked against the building’s exterior, and Bruce could see firefighters on as many levels as possible looking for survivors…or bodies.

There was nothing to say. What could he say? Only this morning, he had imagined the destruction he might see, but now staring at it, he had no words. This was worse. So much worse. It was then that something pulled on his jacket, and Bruce looked down to see a young boy, whose face was streaked with blood and dust, tracks lining down his cheeks from tears.

Kneeling, Bruce came to eye level with the boy, who couldn’t have been more than five years old at most. “Hello. My name is Bruce. What’s yours?”

“Billy.” The child responded instinctively. “I know you.”

Confused, Bruce tilted his head slightly. “How do you mean, Billy?”

“Your picture is on the wall. Y’know, up where my mommy works?” Billy pointed at the damaged building in front of him.

“I see. And where is your mommy now, Billy?”

“I don’t know. We were in the daycare. My teacher saw the fight, and the flying machine, and told us to line up and go outside. My mommy was on a different floor. But you’re her boss, so you know where she is, right?”

“I might. But I need to know her name first, can you tell me her name?” Bruce asked, piecing together the child’s story. The building must have started evacuating, and the daycare in the office would have been available.

“Um…some people call her Marilyn. But I don’t understand that, because I call her mommy.”

“Marilyn? That’s very helpful, Billy. But what about your last name, can you tell me that?”

“Batson. That’s my full name. Billy Batson.” The child explained.

Bruce was stunned by the irony of the situation before him. Batson. The name could not be more significant at that moment.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know where to find your mommy either, because of the building falling, but how about, you stay with me for the moment, and we try and find her together. Does that sound like a plan, Billy?” Bruce said, trying to reassure the child and shove down the innate urge to adopt the child on the spot.

“Okay.”

* * *

It probably wasn’t the best idea to take a child walking around the wreckage of the city, but something inside Bruce refused to let him hand the child off to someone more qualified. Bruce picked Billy up and carried him on his hip as they walked around, and Billy wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck, burying his face into Bruce’s jacket.

Eventually, they found an EMT holding a list, next to another line of bodies, and Bruce approached her. “Excuse me, is that a list of people you pulled from the buildings?”

“Yes, sir, it is. I’m sorry, it’s not complete while the rescue is still going on, and a lot of the bod…people don’t have identification on them.” The woman changed her wording, noticing the child in Bruce’s arms.

“I understand that. But do you have anyone on that list named Marilyn Batson, by any chance?”

Billy raised his head at the mention of his mother’s name, and the woman eyed the child for a second before scanning the list. “Bat…son. Batson. Ba…B A T S O N?” The woman spelled out, checking. Billy nodded, and Bruce confirmed.

“Yes. I’m sorry, she’s here.”

“She’s here. Mommy’s here!” Billy smiled, and Bruce cringed, knowing what was about to happen.

“Billy. Billy, son, I need you to look at me.” Bruce whispered gently, and Billy glanced around, trying to spot his mom before finally focusing on Bruce. The EMT placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, but he ignored her.

The smile diminished on Billy’s face upon taking in Bruce’s expression. “Where is she? Where’s my mommy?”

“Billy, I’m really sorry. But your mom was hurt when the building fell. She’s gone, buddy.”

“Gone? But the lady said she was here? How can she be gone?” Billy’s face was confused.

Bruce took in a deep breath. “Billy, your mom, she passed away.” The message finally dawned on Billy, and a litany of emotions crossed his face as the child tried to process.

“But…but my dad’s already dead. Mommy can’t die too. Then no one else will be with me. I…I want my mom. I want my mom. I want my mom.” Billy started to break down. Fresh tears ran down his face, and Bruce pulled the child into his arms once more.

“I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m so, so sorry.” As Billy sobbed into his chest, a strange shadow was cast above Bruce. Looking above, Bruce shielded his face against the sun to see a man looming above him…twelve feet in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically, I'm taking various canonical characters, details of whom I'm picking from both fanon and canon, and jumbling them all together. You can't stop me, so just try. Yes, I am aware that I might be writing these characters a little OOC as a result, but then again, DC has been doing that a lot themselves lately, so sue me. Actually don't, sue them. Or ignore me. Either way, this is just something I'm writing for fun.


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